5 things I am thankful for

1 - Marble Slab Creamery, just down the street.  Every 5th purchase is free.  I love the double dark chocolate with cherries mixed in.  Crave it, actually.  Crap, now I have to go get some.

2 - Alice got her rotavirus vaccination about 2 months ago.  It's a recent development (they didn't have them when Helen was an infant) that has drastically cut down on doctor visits for that "stomach bug" that families pass around to each other.  This month, Helen & I both got the actual virus.   As we've spent too much time over a toilet, I'm thankful that I don't have to worry about Alice getting this one.

3 - My job.  In this economy, I'm glad I'm employed somewhere I love to go each day.  I've been very lucky to land in a great place with great people.

4 - We've worked pretty hard on getting Helen to learn all of her letters by sight.  She's really picked it up in a very short timeframe.  It's an amazing feeling to watch her learn.

5 - Our library card.  It's our newest Saturday afternoon tradition - head down and pick out 10 books to read.  It's a great way to cancel out the whole "I've read that 100 times since your birth, and if I never see that book again, it'll be too soon."

Thanks, S. - and Happy Turkey Day to you all!

Unforgettable

Here are 5 things I don't ever want to forget that Helen says.

1. "Callapitter" instead of caterpillar.
It now takes me forever to figure out in my head how to say it right. Some days, under extreme sleep deprivation, "callapitter" sounds like a good choice.

2. For a long time we called a serving of chicken "bock bock" after the sound that a chicken makes. Helen started it as a toddler, and after a while I was doing it, too. Giving this some serious thought lately, I don't know if Helen has actually put together that the chickens that walk around clucking are the same ones that end up in her Happy Meal. But calling it "bock bock" might be the best way to reinforce that very image. So I stopped doing it. Call me chicken (pun intended), but I'm not ready for that conversation yet.

3. For words that start with "Y" she uses the "L" sound. Especially "yellow" which is now "lellow." Typical conversation:

Jennie: What color is the sun?

Helen: Lellow.

Jennie: No, it's yellow, Helen. Ye-llow. Say it.

Helen: Le-llow.

Jennie: No. Try this. Ye ...

Helen: Ye ...

Jennie: llow.

Helen: llow.

Jennie: Ye .. llow.

Helen: Le ... llow.

Jennie: *sigh*

And for some unknown reason, L words got the Y treatment last year, like "Yama" instead of "Llama" or "Yove" instead of "Love." We worked *forever* on sticking that tongue between the teeth to make the L sound, and she finally got the hang of it. Now we're working on the reverse with the Y words. It never ends, people. But I realize, mine is not to reason why, mine is but to teach that kid how to speak correctly, or die penniless because she never graduated from med school with that speech impediment. "What we'll do is make a yateral incision along the yeft ventricle ..." "Uh, there's the exit. Use it."

4. Last weekend, we went to the "Libarry." It is my firm belief that at least four out of every ten adults INSIDE THE LIBRARY still say "libarry." So this may not be easily fixed.

5. Lately, Helen doesn't want us to leave the room without sharing something vital. If I get up to check on the baby or head to the kitchen, Helen asks me to wait, she has to tell me something. And then I pause while she struggles to make something up to tell me. It's a delaying tactic, I get it. And my sole purpose is to get out of the conversation quickly, so I can get on with what I was going to do, before I forget what it was. So I don't really engage her, and yet she comes up with these gems off the top of her head that are so sweet.

The one where I get the punchline:

Helen: Mommy, I have to tell you something.

Jennie: What is it?

Helen: You're the bestest mommy, ever.

Jennie: I know!


The one where Brian gets the punchline:

Helen: Daddy, I have to tell you something.

Brian: What?

Helen: You're my daddy.

Brian: That's what they tell me.

Party Pooper

So this weekend I caved. I took Helen to a child's birthday party.

I know, I know. I had sort of hoped that my year-long boycott would somehow start a trend and that people would finally give up trying to entertain toddlers with a $200 party place and goody bags and an elaborate cake and a one present minimum.

But for some strange reason, a child's birthday seems to have ballooned into an entire industry. Go figure.

Since we're at the new daycare, my reasoning for accepting just this once seemed sound: jump into the fray with an entirely new clique of parents. Meet people. Be social. You know - a good time to give this gig a second chance.

Instead, I was reminded of just how much THIS IS NOT MY GIG.

The party child sleeps on a mat next to Helen's at daycare, so they're friends. The parents were perfectly nice and took a moment to come over and introduce themselves to me. They said really sweet things about Helen, which I appreciated. But folks, I'm one of the first parents to drop off in the morning, and one of the last to pick up at night. So I don't know any of the kids, and I really don't know the parents. I think everyone else must have assumed I was family, because I had to walk up and talk to people to get more than a passing smile. And I couldn't reciprocate with nice things about their children, except "Oh, Helen talks about him all the time," while I'm thinking of David Spade from SNL, "And you are ...?"

The party took place at one of those indoor inflatable jump places, which sounded like a great way to wear Helen out on a weekend afternoon. But because of the blowers and the blaring party music, it ended up being noisier than the bars I remember from my single days. It was difficult to talk to anyone unless you were standing right next to them. So I spent most of my time holding Alice and watching Helen bounce. I think she had a ball - she ran around a lot, and she seemed to know the kids there. But to me, nothing beats the old-fashioned playdate: meeting a friend at the playground for some slides and swings and juiceboxes. I can chat with the parents and get to know them, instead of anonymously standing around and not talking to each other.

I've managed to give birth to two kids with summer birthdays - probably scarring them for life that they can't have cupcake day at school! Brian & I talked often about what we wanted for our kids, and a giant party they won't remember was definitely not one of them. So Year 1 was cupcakes in her high chair. Year 2: lather, rinse, repeat. Year 3: more cupcakes, plus a $2 box of popsicles for her classmates at daycare. Next year, we may get an inflatable bouncy something in the backyard. But we won't have to invite a dozen kids to make it worthwhile - Helen and Alice could have it all to themselves!

What I could see in future years to celebrate their big day: inviting a couple of their best friends over for some time at the neighborhood pool. Maybe they could have a sleepover if they wanted it. I'm sure they sound like boring old-fashioned parties that nobody has anymore, plus it's so much work and it messes up your house to have a bunch of kids over. But why spend weekends going to the same party places over and over? My greatest wish for their birthdays is a party they'll remember. I don't remember most of mine, although Mom swears up & down I had them. And for some reason, my 29th birthday is a total blank. Hmm.

What's the first birthday party you can remember? Let me know. I wonder if it's just me being ridiculous about this whole thing. I've seen scads of posts on parenting websites and while everyone has ideas for themes and games and cakes and goody bags, not one single parent expresses my level of frustration at having to stand around at these events with nothing better to do than watch your child. So maybe it's just me, and you can feel free to tell me to just get over it. And if it's not just me - speak up!

Next up: Safety Patrol

Brian's friends at work asked him to join them on a fishing trip on Sunday.

Brian:  He asked me if I needed to get a hall pass.

Jennie:  As if!  You don't have to get a hall pass from me.

Brian:  Yeah, I told him he had it all wrong.  He should have married someone who didn't like him.

Jennie:  Then you get all the hall passes you can handle.

Family Jargon

If you've ever checked out the list of blogs I read, one is a community blog called "Ask MetaFilter."  Basically, it's a large group of people who live for the internet, some of whom are experts in their chosen fields.  The site's purpose is to ask questions and post answers on a variety of topics.  Questions range from technical details on setting up a webpage to the ethical dilemmas that pop up at work to the dire psychological problems in a relationship - even hypothetical situations are fair game.

I noticed one yesterday as I perused the site for some interesting reading, where a poster was looking for examples of family jargon.  Going beyond just the average inside jokes, the poster wanted to learn more about the origins of the terms, and if outsiders would be clueless hearing them used in the average dinner conversation.

There were over 100 responses, some of which were downright hilarious.  And it got me to thinking about our own family jargon that I grew up with.  I'll explain some of them to you.

NIGHTY-SUIT

A lot of family jargon comes from kids who make up words or have trouble with pronunciation.  As long as I can remember, the clothes you wear to bed in my family have been called "nighty-suits."  The true origin is lost in the hazy mists of my memory, but I'm guessing this came from my mom's own childhood.  And my mom still uses this phrase today.

SCROUNGE NIGHT

We've all been there - Mom would get tired of figuring out what to cook the troops for dinner.  Or we'd have some leftovers, but not enough to serve the entire family for another meal.  So Mom would call for a Scrounge Night, and we could dig whatever we wanted out of the fridge or the pantry to cook for ourselves.  It went without saying that the meal had to fulfill certain nutritional requirements (i.e., cookies are not a meal) but as long as we reheated it ourselves, we could enjoy it.

CAMP GRANDMA

Every summer, my grandparents would meet my parents halfway between our house and theirs, and my sister & I would get in their car and go spend a week at their house.  Usually our cousins would meet us there to hang with us that week.  Many years later, I learned that it was informally called Camp Grandma by our parents.  We had waterfront activities just about every single day.  Also, we did arts and crafts.  Often there were cooking lessons.  Also, we went to see the outdoor amphitheater performance of "Oklahoma!" near their home.  Grandma even enforced a "naptime" every afternoon.  And if the trip coincided with July 4th, we walked down to the river to see the city's fireworks show.  Later, my sister & I used "Camp Grandma" to refer to our own parents caring for our cats while we were out of town.  I don't think they had to enforce naptime, though.

SCHOOL FOR THE GIFTED

Based on the Gary Larson cartoon here, my sister and I make the same gesture and repeat "School for the Gifted" whenever we do something really dumb.  Sometimes we just do the gesture, without saying the words.  

COOK IN THE CAR

In my mid-twenties, I moved back in with my parents after ending a long-term relationship out of state.  I worked downtown and commuted about 45 minutes back home.  Sometimes I'd offer to pick up dinner on the way home.  My parents would call in and I'd stop to pick it up.  And just as often, my dad would pick it up.  On one of those occasions, we discovered just how many times we had called a particular Chinese restaurant for takeout.  As my dad came in, the hostess greeted him, "Ah, Mr. Brown, you cook in the car tonight?"  We all loved the idea of "cooking in the car" so much, that's how we refer to all takeout food.

Please please please contribute an example of your own family jargon in the comments!  I'd love to hear more.

Chillin'

Today Alice had some tummy time on the Boppy.

Also, Brian played his video game.  Alice helpfully commented here and there on his strategy.

Not sure if you can see it in the background, but we turned the fireplace on today.  It was a bit chilly outside and very overcast.

All in all, a very quiet Sunday.  Funny how I crave these kind of weekends after a bunch of busy ones in a row.

Under the Sea

Helen is an avid fan of all things Disney.  About a year ago, we watched Cinderella together, and since then, she's been hooked.  "Little Mermaid" is a big favorite.  She especially enjoys singing all of the songs.

Yes, that's right - she sings.  But she's inherited her mother's skills, which means you shouldn't get your hopes up about seeing her on American Idol any time soon, unless it's the Worst of American Idol Auditions.

Below I've embedded the YouTube video of "Part of Your World."  It's a touching song, one of Disney's finest moments, where the teenager Ariel laments about how her blockhead of a father just doesn't understand her because she wants to be on land with all the humans and the prince of her dreams.

My favorite moments in motherhood lately are when Helen sings snippets from this song.  She even adopts the "breathy" singing, when Ariel whispers some of the lines.  Watch the first minute here (you don't have to watch the whole thing, unless you're a giant fan).

I mention all of the above to tell you that Helen has a problem with pronouns.  Instead of "she wants" Helen will say "her wants."  Now I've noticed that she sings that way, too.  So at the end of that first minute, where Ariel sings, "Looking around here you'd think, 'Sure, she's got everything'," Helen will change the words to instead sing, "Her got everything."  CRACKS ME UP.

I babysat for a little boy who had pronoun problems.  Instead of using "I" he would say "me" - as in, "Me want juice."   And there was the 3-year old who talked about himself in the third person - as in, "Bob want juice."  So I know this is common - and also temporary.

But I'm trying hard to notice this cute stuff, because one day Helen will yell at me about not letting her take the car, upset that I'm being a blockhead who doesn't understand what she really wants, and I'll be able to sing "Sure, her got everything" and MAKE HER EVEN MADDER.  Because that's what moms live for, dontcha know.

The Week From ... Well, You Know.

Sometimes you have one of those weeks where absolutely everything you touch turns to mush.

Last Monday we got back from vacation after midnight, and the next morning after sitting 4 days in cold weather, my car was acting up. When I pulled out of the driveway, it wouldn't shift out of first on time. The RPMs kept revving higher and higher until finally CLUNK it shifted into second. I don't pretend to be an expert on cars, but one thing I do know: CLUNK is not a sound you want to hear coming from the front of your car. I stopped at a few red lights during my short commute that morning, and with traffic building behind me, my car would start off slowly. I'd curse a blue streak and then CLUNK, it finally shifted into second. Eventually, when the car warmed up and I had run out of colorful phrases to use, it shifted normally. But that took some time, of course. And when you've got 2 kids to drop off at daycare and a bus to catch, time is of the essence. Plus, there's the whole "Helen, those are Mommy words" vocabulary lesson I have to give.  I chalked some of the car's problem up to being cold and not used for 4 days, but I was still concerned. In November, the weather isn't going to get any warmer.

I mentioned it to Brian, who was having a really busy week after taking vacation. He promised to take a look at it soon. The car did pretty much the same thing every time I turned it on - reverting to normal after it warmed to temp. On Thursday's commute, the car's check engine light came on. So I knew things were going from bad to worse.

Friday Brian checked under the hood, and the transmission fluid was fine. The hoses were in good shape. He did some googling for transmission problems in Hondas, and with fear in his heart on Monday, he drove it to a mechanic who kept it overnight in order to test drive it cold. The next day he reported back that yes, there was internal damage, and yes, we needed to replace the transmission. He gave Brian a piece of paper that had an impossibly long string of numbers next to a dollar sign.

Brian met me for lunch with a copy of the estimate in hand. Aside from using insurance proceeds to fix damage from an accident, I've never spent that much to fix any car I've owned - EVER. We both sat at the table in stunned silence, trying to absorb the shock. Then Brian said, "I didn't tell the guy it was my birthday. Maybe he'd give me a discount." He looked at me, and he had tears standing in his eyes. That got me teary, and let's just say lunch wasn't any fun after that.

This week Brian borrowed his brother's car while mine is at the shop. His brother's car doesn't have a backseat, which I need for both car seats. So now I'm driving the kids around in his company car. Keep in mind I'm catching the bus to work. After dropping off the kids, I drive about a mile down the road and park my car at a local drug store with a bus stop right out front. Let's just say for the sake of the story that the drugstore is called Ballpeens.

Yesterday, Brian needed to use the company car instead of his brother's car, so at 7 AM he went to the drug store and left his brother's car there, taking his. Later that afternoon, he returned to the lot to give it back, so I could arrive on the bus and drive it to get the kids. Instead of finding his brother's car where he left it that morning, he finds that half of the parking lot roped off and resurfaced - AND ALL THE CARS ARE GONE.

Did anyone else hear that CLUNK?

Heading inside the store, he learned that Ballpeens has towed our car. No warning signs the day before or even that morning, but rather a construction crew that arrived at 10:30 a.m. and after checking with all customers in the store, they had it towed.

I have two questions.

A - What kind of construction crew starts work at TEN THIRTY?

B - You towed the car across town? Really? You couldn't just tow it TO THE OTHER HALF OF THE PARKING LOT?

Brian waited for me to arrive on the bus, and we picked up the kids and drove across town to pick up the car. What we expected to be a simple operation requiring money to exchange hands, turned out to require a phone call to his brother and faxed signed documents authorizing them to release the car to Brian. Oh, and money, too.

In the meantime, I'm sitting in the tow truck's parking lot with a hungry hungry hippo in the backseat and - thank god - a sleeping baby. Helen doesn't understand why Daddy is taking so long, and by the way, do I have any snacks? or anything to drink? How about now? No? Are you sure? Hey Mommy, when's Daddy coming back? Do you have anything to drink? Why is Daddy taking so long? Is he getting us any food?

And Brian has to head out for his company softball game, so he's got better things to do than wait on all the formalities, too. From picking up the kids to picking up the car, it took over an hour, and that close to dinnertime, it really really sucked. We parted ways in the parking lot. I decided on the way home to lose the grumpiness because there was really no way I could take this out on Helen, so after eating some leftover mac & cheese, we all curled up in our bed and watched Alice in Wonderland while I fed the baby.

Brian's team got drilled in the softball game, so instead of heading out to eat with co-workers after the game, he came straight home.

I called the drug store this morning, and they said they didn't tow it to the other side of the parking lot because that would have cost THEM money, not me. I'm like, hey, we would have paid it if you told me we had 2 options - pay you, or pay the tow truck driver across town with my car behind a locked gate and a hungry hungry hippo in the car an hour past her dinnertime. She said, hey, I didn't know that. And don't park there anymore.

Gah. Have a little heart, giant corporate drug store manager.  You have a huge lot that's never full, and a bus stop right there.  It's for customers, you say?  I buy a coke or something I need about twice a week from that store since I started parking there, but not anymore.  Now I've got a drug store chain to boycott, and a new parking lot to find.

That's Spooky

So we had a little holiday this past weekend that most kids tend to enjoy.  Helen is no exception.  Her daycare teacher is the biggest fan of Halloween so Helen has come home every day with one spooky art project after another.  Or a Halloween song.  Fortunately, nothing from Rocky Horror Picture Show.

So, here are the obligatory costume pics.  Helen was a beautiful Snow White.  Her costume has little sparkly red gems on it.  She loves to wear it, like, ALL THE TIME.  I found a good hiding place for it the week before Halloween, just so she wouldn't sleep in it.

Alice recycled a costume from Helen's first Halloween, what I like to call the Pink Bunny Costume from "A Christmas Story."

This looks says, "No! No! I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!"

And what do we say, folks?  All together now:  "You'll shoot your eye out, kid."

We Have a Winner

Brian's company provides rewards for meeting certain sales goals, and this fall they were offering a long weekend for both of us at an all-inclusive resort in the Dominican Republic.  In June, Brian had done the math after having an exceptional couple of weeks, and he was already halfway there.  He really wanted to go on this trip, and he vowed to make it happen for us.

At the time, I was pregnant.  I thought, hey, we'll have a very little baby then!  Won't that be a problem?  Brian assured me that the company would let us take a baby if I was nursing.  I knew Brian would work very hard to get there, but my thought was, let's worry about that when he meets the goal.

Brian kept selling all summer.  He was racking up the deals.  I was thrilled for him but waited to make any plans.

And then I went through labor and delivery and maternity leave, which was sort of distracting.  Just as I headed back to work, Brian hit the last week of the program and learned he had qualified.  We had a trip to the Dominican to book on the 4th weekend of October.

So, now it was time to worry about what to do.  I knew Helen would have a ball with her grandparents, but I went back and forth on what to do with Alice.  Four whole days away from an 11-week old baby is rough on both mom and baby.  I could take my breast pump with me, and Alice is used to getting bottles at daycare, but the connection is not the same.  She recognizes my voice now, and god, that smile!  She really is a happy baby, and I would just miss her.  I didn't want to ruin the progress we were making together, and I couldn't imagine leaving her behind.

And then I thought, Dominican Republic.  I don't know if you are catching the news on this place lately, but it's in a bit of political unrest right now, and that's putting it mildly.  Also, the middle of the Carribbean at the end of hurricane season could be dangerous.  On top of that, they tell you not to drink the water.  And it's hot and humid and there's sand everywhere.  So maybe not the best place to bring a new infant.  

So, in the end, I told Brian to book it for just the two of us, and we made plans for Helen and Alice to stay with her grandparents.  I spent weeks pumping and freezing extra milk for the baby.  And then the day finally came - we got up at the crack of dawn last Friday, drove to the airport in the pouring rain, boarded a plane and headed due south.

Of course, it was an incredible trip.  We never left the resort to do any sightseeing around town, but instead spent the entire time relaxing, sleeping, and enjoying the beautiful beach.  Oh, and eating and drinking.  The food was fantastic, and the drinks were amazing.  

Coming back home, we discovered the temperatures hit freezing.  Helen had so much fun with her grandparents, now she actually cries at night and tells me how much she misses them.  And the baby didn't seem any worse for the absence.   Alice spent her time hitting them up for more bottles, and when I took her to daycare, they mentioned she suddenly wanted to be held all the time.

Hmm.  I wonder why.

Below are some pictures of the resort.   Just plain awesome doesn't begin to describe it.

Our rooms were surrounded by gorgeous lush Carribbean landscaping - lots of flowers and palm trees everywhere.

Of course, the beach was a big favorite.  The sun was a bit strong, so I stayed under those huts all weekend.  It was either that or look for SPF 480.  
They had these beds by the pool area for lounging and snoozing. 
And here's the pool area.  Not too shabby.
Wait, how'd that get in there?!  That is a Mai Tai of extraordinary goodness.  In fact, they were so delicious, I ordered two at a time.

And there is Brian's favorite, the Bloody Mary.  Secret ingredient:  soy sauce. 

All in all, it was a fantastic four days.  Very relaxing to get a bunch of hours of sleep in a row and have a little bit of peaceful quiet and ocean waves to enjoy.  I'd recommend the place to anyone looking for a nice vacation spot, and I wouldn't mind going back there again.  

But it sure was nice to hug the girls when we got home.

The Solution

We all have those mornings where we wake up in the wrong mood, or we don't like any of our clothes, or breakfast just doesn't sit right. Everyone you see crosses you the wrong way or says the wrong thing to you, and life is just monumentally unfair from the moment your eyes open.

Brian is saying to himself, "This is what Jennie is like after 8:30 at night!"

Hmm. Anyway.

Last week, Helen had that morning. We got to daycare, and she just wasn't ready for it. She knew the drill with the transition - get out of the car, get Alice to her room, give her hugs & kisses, and then head to her room - but as soon as I was shutting the door to the infant room, Helen went into full-on whine mode. As in, I don't want to go to daycare, I don't want you to leave, I don't know what else I want but right now YOU'RE NOT DOING ANYTHING RIGHT WHINE WHINE WHINE.

When you're three years old, life is hard. You think you can do it all by yourself, and you definitely want to, but you don't have any marketable skills to put on your resume except "makes messes" or "screws up a perfectly good schedule." If you can paddle your canoe upstream, just because you can, you do. Even if that's not what your parents want you to do.

From the moment she was able to speak, I have taught her Mommy's Rules, which are as follows:

1. No whining.
2. No crying.
3. Do what Mommy says.
4. See Rule #3.

These rules cover a wealth of mistakes and potential problems. If she's in timeout, she knows why. Not doing what Mommy said is usually the biggest offense. But the whining gets me mad in a hurry, and I've tried my best to get her to stop doing it. She's okay about it most days, depending on how much she wants to watch Little Mermaid.

Last week marked her second week in a new daycare, and she had been doing stellar up to that point. I wanted her to do well, and I wanted her to like the new place. But that morning she kept telling me she wanted to go back to the old daycare, that she didn't want to be in the new daycare. And she really didn't want me to leave. She just wanted to bury her head in my neck, wrap her arms around me and never let go. Oh yeah - and the whining.

And instead of being mad, for once I was really, really sorry for her. I understood. Everything was still so new for her. Having one day in the past two weeks as Whiny Kid at dropoff time - well, that earned a free pass. Sympathy kicked in. So instead of getting mad at her about missing my bus or needing to hurry or being late for work, I took a deep breath and tried to talk her through it. I gave her all the reasons why the new daycare was better (she gets to see her sister, she gets to make new friends, she gets to learn new things, her teachers love her, etc.). She wasn't buying any of it. Her grip kept getting tighter, and I could not put her down at all.

This is exactly why they tell you not to reason with toddlers. I mean, she understands it, but that doesn't mean she has to agree with it. "Because I said so" is a perfectly legitimate response from a mom. But today, I knew I couldn't use it. I wanted her to be happy when I left, so that the next day and the day after that and every day would be easier for her. Forcing the issue today would only make it harder for everyone tomorrow.

Finally, I called her teacher over and explained that we were having a hard time this morning, and that Helen really wanted to go to her old daycare. Her teacher was not the least bit offended, and in fact was very sweet and gentle with Helen. Telling her that she had a toy she wanted Helen to come over and play with didn't work. Tack #2 was the trick, though. She said, "Helen, you know what, let's go over here and play with this, and then, after snack, I'll let you go see your sister, and you can give her a bottle. Okay?"

Helen's head popped up immediately. She looked at me, smiled, kissed me goodbye, and leaned over to her teacher. I mean, she changed in a SNAP.

Bribery will get you everywhere with a three-year old.

Alice has nursed since the day she was born. For the entire maternity leave, I nursed her. I pump at work so she gets bottles at daycare. No one else has fed this baby except her daycare teachers. Not even Brian has given her a bottle. Helen hasn't even asked to feed the baby - I don't think it occurred to her to ask, since she knows Alice gets her milk from Mommy. So this was a VERY. BIG. DEAL.

The teacher took a picture of them together at that feeding.

She hasn't made a peep about going back to the old daycare.

Wait, WHAT did you say that was called?

So Alice is now the proud owner of one of the hottest baby items: a Bumbo seat.

I don't think they were selling these seats when Helen was a baby, and walking around Toys'R'Us last weekend, I decided Alice needed one. She's not quite holding her head up by herself, but she definitely lifts it for long periods of time, so I thought it would be good for her.

Turns out I was right.



Oh, and Helen likes it, too.

Wedding Day

One of Helen's daycare teachers and sometime babysitter got married, and invited us to the wedding.   Brian had to attend a football cookout at his boss's house, so it was just us.   A girls' night out! 

Okay, so not really.  And you might ask what would possess a woman with a 3-year old and a 2-month old to pack up the kids and drive 45 minutes across town to a wedding that takes place an hour before dinner time.

You can ask. You won't get a response that makes any sense, other than "I hadn't worn my favorite little black dress in a *really* long time, okay?"

I spent the day thinking about timing and what I would need while I was away from the house.  When you nurse a baby, everything you do in a day comes down to a simple equation:  

Travel time (A) + last feeding time (B) = when is the next feeding? (C)  

where A = 45 and B = ...

oh, screw it, we all know C = NOW

So traveling that far with a baby who could be hungry upon arrival meant "BE PREPARED" or possibly "DANGER WILL ROBINSON."  Factoring in Helen's naptime prior to leaving and preparing everyone to get out of the house in wedding finery - well, I'm sure it didn't take this much work to get to troops to Iraq. 

The wedding itself was picture perfect. The bridesmaids were dressed in black satin strapless sheaths, with a fushia sash around their waists. They carried gorgeous white rose bouquets, and all of them looked like a million bucks. The bride wore a bright white strapless dress with plenty of tulle and sparkling sequins, and carried a bright pink bouquet of roses. The groom and his groomsmen wore black suits with black shirts. The groom's tie was white, and the groomsmen wore fuschia ties. Sort of a late 70's mafia look, which I'll admit is difficult for guys from the deep South to pull off with any degree of success.

The bride had not been over to babysit for us in quite some time, but Helen remembered her right away. She was the model child during the wedding - finding a pencil and something to write on, she busied herself with scribbling a few things for me. Fortunately, Alice took a short nap with a good pacifier, so we didn't have a single squawk out of either of them. And it was one of those quick Protestant ceremonies - no sermon, even - so we were out in about 12 minutes.

I should have known that would be the easy part.

The reception was at a nearby country club, which had a back patio set up on a hillside that overlooked a gorgeous mountain scene. The sun was about an 30 minutes away from setting when I got this great picture of Helen.


Shortly after this was taken, Alice decided to scream in agony about gas pains for nearly 30 minutes. This has happened before, and there's nothing I can do except give her a little bit of gas medicine and pat her back. Eventually she burps, but it can take a while. I felt horrible after about 2 minutes on the patio with all the wedding guests trying to enjoy the gorgeous view, and here was a screaming baby out there with them, so we ended up in the parking lot, with me in the car trying to soothe her and Helen running around picking flowers. I was inches away from giving up and going home when Alice finally burped. So we settled down, and I gave her a little dinner bottle, and that's when the bride & groom pulled up in their getaway vehicle.

Oh, how I wanted to get in behind the driver's seat and take off.  

Helen was all about the dancing at the reception. In fact, she was the only one who danced most of the evening. She also spent quite a bit of time chatting up the DJ.  I believe at one point she mentioned that her daddy knows all of the songs to the Lion King.  To his credit, he was the soul of patience and acted interested in everything she wanted to tell him.  He did, however, ask me to let him know when I was ready for the Chicken Dance.  I'm not sure if that was an insult or if he was serious, but I told him that I would NEVER be ready for the Chicken Dance.  Hopefully he got the message and sent it to other wedding DJs.  I'm here for you, people.  

Here, Helen shakes her groove thang.

I don't know where they got their cake, but it was amazing. Very heavy and moist.  Here, Helen contemplates the mystery of delicious, sugary frosting.

I didn't get any pictures of me in that little black dress, though.  Probably a good thing.

Bed Time! I mean it! Lights out, now!

Ah, who's kidding who here.  Those two won't ever get to sleep.

Six unremarkable things about me

My cousin tagged me, which I have figured out means I need to do a blog entry with this theme.  Since the purpose of this blog is to catalog many of the unremarkable things that happen to me every day, I'll just have to come up with some things you haven't heard before.  Wish me luck.

1.  My Wii fitness age is currently 75.  That Wii is just damn lucky to be alive right now.  

2.  I have a black cat named Max who turned 13 this week.  I can remember the day I got him so well.  He's been with me through some big changes in my adult life, and he's the biggest bundle of unconditional love.  I don't appreciate him nearly enough, and it's getting harder to pay attention to him with 2 kids running our lives these days.  Through it all, I know he's just secretly wishing he could live with my parents again, out on their screened-in porch.

3.  I have several seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD, and I watch the musical episode from Season 6 about once a month.   I treated myself to a viewing before heading back to work.  Now I can't get Xander & Anya's tune out of my head.  

4.  I love love love the "In Memorium" segments on the Oscars and the Emmys, as they recall who died the previous year.  Yes, I'm a morbid award show watcher.  It always strikes me as a little wierd when people clap for the more famous people, like "Oh, he died!"  (clap, clap, clap)  Anyway, sometimes I get a little choked up and teary at the loss of so many talented people.  I'm already a little sad just thinking about seeing Paul Newman's name up there next spring.  

5.  I do not know how to use a lawn mower.  Or, as my husband would put it, I have refused to learn how to use a lawn mower.  Yard work is not something I have tried to learn.  I'm much more of a laundry person.  This might explain why our bushes are completely overgrown, but right now the kids' clothes are clean, folded, and put away.

6.  I got new contacts last week.  Helen immediately noticed the glasses were gone, and she asked me if I had my contacts.  She even said it correctly!

General News

Item 1
I tried 2 crockpot recipes last week, and both were a big hit. The meatloaf was especially tasty - very moist & juicy, not the least bit dry. The other meal was a chicken cooked in wine that was so tender, it fell off the bone when I tried to take it out. I think it was a bit tipsy. Even the carrots were singing Irish drinking songs. 

Thanks to everyone for all the recipes!  I look forward to trying them all as the weather gets chilly.  (And I should have known my aunts would have plenty of them to share.)

Item 2
Both girls are at a new daycare this week. I was sad to leave the old one, where Helen was such a Big Girl on Campus. Sometimes it feels like I'm raising the popular kid, because when we arrive, all the kids rush to her yelling "Helen!" And the teachers give her big hugs when she leaves each day. 

It's taken 3 years for me to finally notice that not every kid gets this kind of treatment. So taking her out of her element that she's known for her whole life - well, understandably I was nervous. Helen started with the 3-year olds in May, and had a great teacher for exactly one month. And then, that teacher moved to a different room. Instead of hiring someone permanent, they shoved a new floater into it every month. After 3 months, I knew I had to find something else.

And I was lucky enough to find a great spot. It's a smaller daycare, where the owner teaches Helen's class. I visited with Helen about a week before she started, so we could ease into The Big Change, and it would give us something to talk about at home when I mentioned "new daycare" to her.   

The teacher was very high energy and held those kids' attention extremely well. It reminded me how much I was not called to teach young kids.  Being "on" that many hours a day?  EXHAUSTING!!  But they're clearly focused on learning good stuff. The room also has 4-year olds in it, so Helen will be challenged - which is good.  She's eager for it. 

Alice's class has 2 teachers that are there for the long haul, and they really love the babies. Consistency and reliability at daycare is important to me, so I knew I'd found a great place when I saw it.

On Friday, when I picked up Helen, Alice's teacher remarked that Helen seemed to have made a lot of friends in her class already. She said that when Helen came by to peek at her sister, some of her classmates were heading for the playground, and they all said, "Come on, Helen! Let's go play!" The teacher said it normally takes a while for new kids to adjust, and for the others to reach out and be friendly. And here she was seeing that kind of behavior already. She was telling me this little story, I think, to reassure me that Helen is settling in nicely and I didn't need to worry about her.

The high school geek in me is cringing. I probably would have taken WEEKS to make one friend.

Item 3
There was an anonymous commenter in the last post who kindly suggested that I turn this blog into a book. I will point that person to THIS ENTRY where my sister did just that for me almost 2 years ago, as one very special Christmas present that made me weepy.  In that entry is a link to buy the book online. If you want to buy the book, I can assure you no one (me or my sister) makes any profits whatsoever - just watching the sales counter tick in an upward direction is reward aplenty.

Whatcha Got Cookin'?

So, I can feel the last few hours of my maternity leave ebbing away.  I head back to work on Wednesday, and I've spent days thinking of how in the world I can get up, get ready, and get an infant and a toddler to daycare, while trying to catch a bus to work before 7:15 a.m.

Pregnancy, childbirth and now sleep deprivation have done something crazy to my brain this time around.  I forget things at the grocery store, lose track of time, have trouble recalling names of people or places, or derail my train of thought in the middle of a story I'm telling.  So I've made lists of everything I need to get done at night and in the morning.  Between pumping at work for an infant that's still nursing, getting the kids' stuff ready to go each day, finding my way to a brand new bus route, and taking care of the house, I haven't even given a moment's thought to actual work once I get back.  

(I do have the baby brag book ready to go, though, chock full of pictures.  I already feel sorry for people who make the mistake of asking me about Alice & Helen this week.  "Here are 25 pictures of my baby!  Please fawn profusely over all of them.")

Honestly, what worries me more is getting home in the evening.  After a full day at daycare, Helen is a HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPO and if I don't have dinner on the table within 20 seconds of the front door opening, I have to throw snacks at her for about 30 minutes straight while we hurry around putting a meal together.  (Yes, they feed my daughter at daycare.  But animal crackers and juice at 4 pm doesn't cut it.  And then snacks right before dinner - well, you know what your mother always told you.  Turns out it's true!  So we're stuck between a rock and that other inflexibly rigid spot known as Terrible Threes.)  

We have tried getting her to help us cook.  That hasn't stopped the whining, but only serves to distract her for a few minutes until she remembers she's hungry again.

Before I went on maternity leave, Brian & I had a system.  Without a lot of room for food storage at our place, we maintain a "just in time" inventory of food.  I'm not one of those people who could cook dinner with just anything in my pantry.  Most of that stuff is there for show, to cover a one-time use, or to help with the baking every year at Thanksgiving.  So each night, via cell phone, Brian & I hammered out a dinner plan on our way home from work.  

This meant when I picked up Helen at daycare, I already knew what I needed to get from the store.  Our grocery store is great at handing out samples, and one little thing would usually tide Helen over until I could get her meal ready, instead of the 3 things she wanted at home.  As long as I explained the plan to Helen ("We're going to the store, and Daddy is going to cook burgers on the grill, and then we'll eat dinner"), she could generally manage the "long" wait with just a cup of milk.

With 2 kids, one of which is still nursing like a champion, I don't think I'll be able to have this little luxury of stopping at the store each night.  Maybe the baby will have a bottle just before I pick her up.  But she's not on that schedule yet, and knowing my luck, they'll hand her over and she'll need one as I'm getting home.

So I've decided to become one of those mothers who plans menus and cooks ahead and freezes things.  I might even spend the weekend baking goodies, too.  Who knows?  This could be a good thing for our family, even if I don't do it all the time.  

My first foray into this experimental lifestyle is crockpot cooking.  So rather than collapsing in front of the TV at night, I'll cut up some things, throw the mess into a crockpot, turn it on in the morning and come home at night to the aroma of dinner, completed.  It sounds like the most perfect thing in the world.

Tonight we're trying a meatloaf.  In the crockpot, you ask?  Yep!  I found a recipe online.  Prep the loaf of beef, line your pot in foil, put the loaf in it and pour the sauce on top.  Set to high or low, depending on when you want it to be done, and wow, does your house smell good in a few hours flat.  

I'm adding green beans and sourdough bread on the side.  That should be enough to tame even the hungriest of toddlers.

Tomorrow, I'm trying a whole chicken.  Wish me luck.

And feel free to share your own time-saving tips for meals in the comments.  I have a feeling I'm gonna need it.

Wii are not happy.

So last weekend, Brian surprised me with a present - a new Wii.  This game console is designed with a remote that helps you play games by mimicking the movements you make in an actual game.  So for example, in tennis you would swing a racket, or in bowling you would roll a ball.  Mimic these same movements while holding the remote, and you're on your way to becoming a pro at Wii games.

I am not that good at video games.  Brian loves them, and can play them for hours.  I, on the other hand, am very picky about the games that appeal to me, and can't seem to get the hang of a PlayStation controller.  Brian has worked hard for years to find something that we can play together but hasn't had much luck in piquing my interest.  His thought was that a Wii would be good for me to play on maternity leave, while he works - that way I can spend the time to get good at it and play with him.  

The first real test of the console came later that night.  We had company visiting from out of town.  I put Alice to bed after her last feeding of the night and found Brian and his two friends in a hotly contested tennis match.  By all accounts, it was a good time for everyone.

This week, Brian spent some time poking around all the features, and discovered a fitness test.  The Wii randomly selects 3 training tests for you - for example, returning tennis serves, finishing spares in bowling, or hitting homeruns.  Based on the results, Wii calculates a "fitness age" for you. 

Brian took the test - keep in mind he had spent the prior evening playing all of these games with his friends - and Wii told him his fitness age is 37.  He's actually 35, so he didn't take the news well, and it didn't help that I laughed at him.  And pointed.  And laughed some more.  I told him he better not spend the next day taking the test over and over again, trying to turn into a 19-year old Wii stud.

Well, he tried, but it turns out Wii lets you take the test only once per day.  So the next night, he dutifully took the test again, and discovered he'd aged 2 more years.

Frustrated, he handed me the remote and made me take the test, whereupon he discovered he's married to a 62-year old woman.

I was so mad, I promptly sent him down the street to get me ice cream.

And yesterday, when I was allowed to take the test again (and did much better, I thought), I had aged 7 more years.

This has not been the best present so far.

Rubber Duckie, you're the one.

Alice spent the first 5 baths wailing like a banshee.  Now she cries when I get her out of the tub.

For the curious, here's a comparison shot of Helen at the same age as Alice:

Sisterly Love

Many of you have been kind enough to ask how Helen is taking the transition from "only child" to "shackled to a life with a sibling."  As an older sister myself, whose younger sister arrived on Christmas Day when I was 2 (and ruined most every day the next 16 years after that by making THAT NOISE WITH HER TONGUE), I can sympathize.  Let's just say that a few years from now, I wouldn't be surprised to find Alice on eBay, courtesy of seller "NoMoreSharing."

But right now, this little girl LOVES her sister.  Every morning, Helen arrives at my bedside to whisper:  "Mommy, can I see my sister?"  The first time I took Alice with me to daycare to drop off Helen, one little girl came over to see the baby.  This classmate had a trail of snot dangling from one nostril, and I recoiled in horror, stammering, "No, no sweetie - Helen's the only one who can touch the baby."  And in one fell swoop, I created a possessive little child.  Today, Helen is overly proud of the fact that she's the only one who can touch the baby.  She tells everyone - her friends, teachers, and even other parents.  

I have spent a lot of time feeding this baby since her first day home, and Helen is always asking to see her.  Sometimes that means she wants to touch her or kiss on her.  Of course, when the baby is attached to me, that kind of downward pressure on the chest area can be a little painful for me.  As a concession, I'll tell Helen that she can hold her after I'm done feeding her.  Helen holding Alice can last anywhere from 5 seconds to whenever Alice starts crying.  Here was a particularly cute session that lasted longer than I expected, but still ended in crying:

Please note Helen continued to smile for the camera.  We have our priorities straight.

Soothing Update

Alice has found her thumb!

And she enjoys a good pacifier, too.

Secret

About 6 months ago I taught Helen how to whisper secrets to her Mommy and Daddy.  Once in a while, she will tell me she has a secret, and I lean forward to let her whisper it in my ear.  Usually it's something like, "I love you."   Recently it's changed to "I love my sister."  Very sweet stuff, but generally not an actual secret.

Yesterday, when Brian was getting ready to take her to daycare, she announced that she had a secret.  When Brian leaned toward her, she whispered in his ear, "I'm going to get ice cream after daycare."

I couldn't be prouder of that girl.